AFTER THE DRY SPELL
by SK McCauley
Summary: Years after the death of her daughter and subsequent dissolution of her marriage, Katherine Flannery vacations in Mexico with her band of "Ya-Ya's." When a passionate tryst with a destined stranger becomes a part of her "real world," Katherine will wonder if she's stepped into her dream life or a cosmic nightmare.
1. ATDS- Chapter 1 (New!)

_Sometimes people snap. It's not something you plan. Just like you don't plan a car accident. It simply happens. Then you have to assess the damage and see if there's anything left worth salvaging. Most of the time, though, you find yourself alone in a room saying, "What the fuck just happened?" And the corridor is either filled with blood, lawyers or mental health workers. _-KATHERINE'S SIXTEENTH PSYCHIC

Chapter One

_Broken_

"She predicted this you know?" Katherine said, clenching her hands in her lap.

"Who did, Katherine?" Dr. Marsha asked, her pen poised above the notes she'd started taking on Katherine month's prior.

"My psychic. She said I'd snap." Katherine chewed her lip.

"With what you've been through, it could have been worse."

"Worse?" Katherine stopped rocking. "I straddled him and smashed his head with my cell phone until it shattered."

"He'd had a knife to your throat four times earlier in the day. Why didn't you snap then?"

"That was different. He was just being playful." Candles danced in the reflection of the window, reminding her of the last time they made love. Jasmine candles, lavender oil, champagne, hands, mouths, skin, kneading, writhing. God they were good together. "You know Mae West?"

Dr. Marsha, a Regression Therapist, nodded and shifted in her ch

.

"She used to say, 'When I'm good I'm very, very good. And when I'm bad… I'm better'."

"And you're saying this because?"

"That was us… our love life. The sex was always very, very good. But when he was 'bad' it was…" Katherine smiled and felt the familiar ache of wanting him.

"And was he 'bad' that night?"

Katherine wondered where this was going. "Why do you ask?"

"Did you climax?"

She made eye contact with Dr. Marsha. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm wondering about your state of mind during aggressive sex. What were you thinking about and did it help you to achieve orgasm?"

Katherine crossed her legs and laced her fingers around her knee. "That feels way too personal."

"You're not ashamed to talk about sex, but rather your thoughts during it?"

_I'm ashamed fantasizing about my past. _"No, I…" _Deflect, Katherine. Never talk about them. _"He grabbed me by the wrists that night."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Trapped. Helpless."

"Think back. Do you remember feeling that way before?"

"Not me." Katherine thought about her mother, just before she died. Her mind had eaten itself teaspoon by teaspoon for twenty-four years before her body showed signs of aging. But then, she fell— at least that what her father said— and spent the next few months strapped to an in-home hospital bed, leg propped up in a sling, restraints on her wrists, being force-fed liquid meals. "I remember her mewing."

"Sorry?" Dr. Marsha wrote something down.

Lightheaded, Katherine put both feet on the ground and breathed in to the count of four, out to the count of eight. "When my mother was dying... I should be more specific— about a year before she died, she was strapped down. Even though she hadn't spoken in years, she never sounded like that before. Her eyes were wild. Scared. And she sounded like an animal dying in a trap."

"And your father; how did he seem at the end?"

"His 'end' or hers?"

"Either. Both."

Katherine went back in time to consider her father's expressions, or lack thereof. "Like an engineer."

Dr. Marsha nearly smiled. "And your definition of engineers?"

"Robotic, humorless, lacking compassion." Katherine knew how Dr. Marsha would respond: "_Not all engineers…_ " Sometimes being intuitive sucked. Made people seem dull and life predictable.

"_Not all_ engineers could be described that way."

_Yawn. _ "You get to decide what's important here: defending the image of engineers around the world, or getting into my head. I have no patience for righteous P.C. corrections, especially from a person who gets paid as much by the minute as most people do by the hour."

Dr. Marsha removed her reading glasses. "Do you feel as if I was defending your father by humanizing engineers?"

_For fucks sake. _"This has suddenly become the most tedious conversation of my life."

"What would you rather talk about?"

_Nothing. At all. Ever. _If her boss hadn't suggested therapy…"Going back in time. Fixing everything."

"Where would you go, back in time?"

Katherine smiled. "Before we ever met. When my kids were home from college for winter break."

"Would you want to meet him again?"

The question seemed ridiculous. If it weren't for the kids she would have added heroin to her list of addictions when he left. "That's like asking Willy Wonka if he'd tour the chocolate factory again. "

"So he was your fantasy man?"

Katherine huffed. "More than that. I mean, he wasn't perfect, but couldn't have made him up, and I certainly never believed that I deserved to feel that kind of love in this lifetime. 'God' would provide me: money, healthy children, and good friends, but I felt too fucked up for the gift of love."

"Fucked up people deserve love too. Besides, you didn't do it to yourself." Dr. Marsha put her glasses back on and picked up her pen.

Katherine took a deep breath, knowing a doozie of a question was coming.

"Do you believe that your children deserve love?"

"Of course. Everyone does."

"Everyone, except you?" Dr. Marsha looked over the top of her glasses.

"I…" Katherine was at a loss for words.

"Everyone thinks that love is this big beautiful thing and once you have it every day will be filled with sunshine and background music. In reality, it can be painful, confusing and exhausting. In your case, the very things that attracted you to him also triggered buried emotions and forgotten memories. Healing isn't easy and it certainly isn't tidy."

Katherine remembered that night. "Yeah. But, love shouldn't involve bloodshed."

Dr. Marsha leaned forward. "I know you don't have many conscious memories of your childhood, but I believe he set off a survival trigger— which are nearly impossible to eradicate— and you reacted the same way you did, or wanted to, when the original trauma took place. That's why it's important to analyze exactly how you felt right as you…"

_Climaxed?_ "Snapped." Katherine closed her eyes and tried to remember. "It was dark and we were in bed, about to go to sleep, then he started looking through my phone."

"Why?"

"We both have trust issues. I think he was looking for some sort of evidence that I was cheating."

"How did that make you feel?"

"I didn't mind at first, because I had nothing to hide, but then he wouldn't give my phone back."

"He pursued his needs despite your request to stop?"

"He just held tighter to the phone. I tried to grab it and he jerked it back. Next thing I know we're fighting, he grabbed me by the wrists and I couldn't move."

"He didn't respect your boundaries, then he overpowered you."

_His needs, no boundaries, overpowered. _ The image of a dim room with a medical table entered Katherine's consciousness. Her heart began to race. "Is it hot in here? It feels really hot in here."

"Are you remembering something, Katherine?"

Katherine pulled at the collar of her shirt. "There's no air in the air."

"It's okay, Katherine. You're safe here. What you're experiencing is in the past. It can't hurt you now."

Katherine tucked her feet under herself. "He's strapping her down."

"Tell me what you're seeing, Katherine."

"Nobody calls me that." Katherine's voice was high and tight, nearly childlike. "It's Katie. Everybody calls me Katie. Except _him_." Katherine nearly snarled. "He won't say my name in here."

"In where?"

"The room with the Plexiglas window."

"Do you know the man?"

Katherine closed her eyes. "I can't see anything."

"Is something covering your face?"

Katherine started to shake. "He'll cut out my eyes if I open them."

"You're safe here. He can't hurt you now."

"He'll always hurt me, even dead." Katherine remembered the night she snapped. She opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Marsha. "They did this. They don't want me to be happy with anyone else."

"They?"

Dr. Marsha looked at Katherine with a compassion she'd never seen before. It rattled her. "Jesus, what the hell is happening? I feel like I'm going nuts. I swear, therapy's making it worse"

"Regressing can sometimes feel like you're walking through fire, but stay open, feel you're feelings. You _can_ heal."

"Heal? I just want to stop the nightmares. " Katherine stood to leave.

Staying seated Dr. Marsha said, "He… _they_, can't control you anymore. You have the freedom and the strength to understand your past. Only then will you truly be able to leave it there."

"How do I even know it's even my history?"

Dr. Marsha stood to face her. "What do you mean?"

_This is going to be dicey. _"As if you didn't think I was crazy enough already…"

"I don't think you're crazy, I think you're complicated."

"Sometimes this 'gift' makes it hard to separate my reality—and my past— from other people's. "

"I've read about some psychic protection techniques that may help. "

"Yeah, I know: the Bubble, the Mummy, the Burning Flame. None of it works." Katherine looked at the clock. "Time's up." Opening her wallet, she removed a twenty-dollar bill. "I'm pressed for time. Mail me a co-pay receipt?"

Dr. Marsha looked over her glasses and weighed each word. "I'll prepare it for your next session. Same time next week?"

Katherine turned toward the door. "I'll only come back, if you promise to fix us." She realized the statement could be taken two ways and turned around. "By 'us' I meant my love life, not some sort of personality integration."

There was a light in Dr. Marsha's eyes. "I knew what you meant. But, I'm open to integration too… should that arise."

"If you could just pull time travel out of your…" Katherine walked through the door.

"If I could, I'd be happy to beam you back to winter break."

The door snapped closed behind her and Katherine walked toward the elevator. An older man caught site of her and said, "Going down?"

"Actually," Katherine removed lip-gloss from her purse. "I'm going back."

He cocked his head.

"Sorry. Therapy joke gone bad." She dabbed her middle finger in the gloss and mindlessly traced the shape of her lips.

No response.

Katherine looked up at the man. He seemed transfixed by her mouth— and thoughts of how he'd use it. She stopped mid lower-lip and screwed the lid back on. _I could break your neck, leave you in the parking lot and still have the stomach for Chinese. _

The elevator dinged. "Ladies first," the man said, holding the door.

"I'll take the stairs. I hear they're better for your health."

"Are you sure?" He smiled and made the mistake of glancing at Katherine's breasts.

"Trust me. It's better for both of us."

He stepped into the elevator, turned around and caught the door. "Will I see you around here again? "

The small diamonds of his wedding band shimmered under florescence. "Not if I see you first."

His eyes went flat. "Maybe you should up the therapy."

"Maybe you should stop fucking around on your wife." Life was _so_ much easier before she let herself be psychic again.

"I, I, don't…"

The faces of the women he'd cheated with appeared in Katherine's mind, their names stamped in red ink on their foreheads. "Then your wife wouldn't mind knowing about Barbara, Marta, Gail…"

He turned ashen. "Who are you?"

_If I knew, I wouldn't be in therapy._ "Just someone you shouldn't fuck with."

He glanced back at the door Katherine came from. "I'll be sure to stay clear this time next week."

"That's an excellent idea."

He let go of the door.

Once closed, Katherine removed her heels, descended eleven flights of stairs, thought about the only man she ever loved and muttered, "Just take me back, God. I promise I won't screw it up this time."

9


	2. Chapter 2

_Five Months Earlier…_

Chapter Two

_Winter Break_

Katherine didn't need an alarm to be roused from slumber. Twice a day the _fucking birds_ pecked away at her sanity. The time of their choruses varied with the seasons, but on this frigid January morning the birds were set for 7:51. The sunset ceremony would commence at 4:46 in Minneapolis— long after her kids went back to college, and exactly one hour and fourteen minutes before she poured her first glass of Chardonnay.

The sanctity of her bed— complete with a body contour mattress, extra-warm down comforter and four feather pillows— and the brain numbing combination of alcohol, Chinese food and a Channing Tatum Moviethon should have been enough to tranquilize a bull, but soon Katherine began to hear them.

Hundreds offinches screeched from their makeshift nests built precariously on woody veins of leafless ivy that wove and clung to the eastern wall of her rented duplex in Uptown. The garden that lay dormant out back— the one that was now thigh deep in snow and looked like a Hitchcock film— housed even more.

Katherine opened a crusty eye and glanced at the red numbers on the digital clock. _No surprise there._

Someone stirred next to her.

Without looking she knew it was Carley. Somewhere along the line it became a tradition for her daughter to sneak into her bed on her first and last night home. Katherine glanced over her shoulder. Carley was facing the windows with her favorite throw draped over her eyes and her wild mane of strawberry waves splayed across the pillow. "The mane," now parted in the middle, was part of a unique look that Katherine never predicted when her daughter was a chubby, shorthaired, gap-toothed, fresh-faced middle-schooler. But, hair growth, healthy eating, orthodontia and a dash of make-up, transformed Carley into a unique stunner: Old Hollywood, classic beauty meets Led Zeppelin/Robert Plant coolness.

Katherine scanned the tattoos on her daughter's left arm. The cartoon Band-Aid on her elbow was the first one she ever got. Carly had been sixteen when a friend "inked her" in his kitchen with makeshift tools. To keep it hidden, she wore long sleeve shirts for a month, but luckily fair-haired girls can't take the heat. The first 80-degree day led to a confession and a trip to a professional tattoo artist to clean up the mess. Subsequent tattoo's: Medusa in a bathrobe, a jellyfish with a toxic brain and sad facial features, and a Hare Standing Up on the back of her neck, came a few years later— as did several others.

More stirring, this time from the lower part of the room. It was Mavis, their five-year-old Boxer, who had a bladder the size of a pea. If the "fucking birds," weren't bad enough, having to crawl out of a warm bed to let her out— when it was well below zero— made mornings Katherine's least favorite part of the day.

Mavis' nails, painted red by Carley, tapped against the wood floor as she made her way to the bed. She laid her chin on the mattress, making her jowls look like puddles. _What a face_. Despite, or perhaps because of, her "flaw," she'd made her way into Katherine's heart. Not an easy thing to do, especially when she was the gassiest dog they'd ever had, but Mavis was the first dog they'd raised from puppyhood. Although she was a purebred, the breeder advertised her adoption because she could never be used for show. Problems with a third eyelid made one eye permanently cherry colored. Katherine referred to it as her Marty Feldman eye, but without that flaw, she surmised, you'd never know where she was looking. Her eyes were as dark as her pupils, which matched her dark brindle striping. When she was in the sunlight, squinting out the cherry color, looking lean and fierce, Katherine thought she looked like a cross between panther and a dragon… with a kitten disposition.

Mavis placed a paw next to Katherine and sighed. It would be the first of three sighs before she whimpered or sneezed. At close range, the later was certain to leave spatter marks on her nightshirt.

"Fine. But neither one of us is going to like this." Katherine reached for the sweatshirt, flannel bottoms and wool socks she kept next her bed, dressed and headed toward the kitchen. After selecting a single serve coffee pod— Irish Mocha— for Carley, she filled the Krups with water and clicked it on. From experience, it would be ready as soon as they came back in. She grabbed a coat, gloves, hat and boots before opening the back door. It was cold on the back stairs, but nothing compared to what it would be outside. At the bottom of the stairs she turned the lock, grabbed the door handle and braced herself. She looked down at Mavis, "Ready?"

Mavis cocked her head and seemed to say, "Would you be ready?"

"One, two, three…" With that, she yanked open the door. It was a whole new level of cold out there. Katherine coughed as she inhaled and noticed a sensation in her nose. Ice forming in her nostrils. Another cough. Mavis ran between walls of snow slipping all the way toward the back gate. After urinating, she quickly assumed the embarrassing defecation hunch, but today she did so while intermittently lifting each paw off the ground.

Katherine grabbed the Pooper Scooper. It was all in the timing. If you didn't get the dogs "business" right away, the heat of it melted the snow and formed a poop block that made spring thaw/clean up the most dreaded time of the year.

As Mavis ran up, Katherine opened the door for her, closed it and slid down the path. It was a 95% clean up morning; better than expected. She covered the remains with snow and headed in.

She filled Mavis' food and water bowls, took off her winter gear, opened a can of Diet Coke and grabbed Carley's coffee before heading back to bed. Once sufficiently snuggled back in, she reached for her iPhone resting on the nightstand to check three things: the weather, her e-mails, and her astrological forecast.

-20 degrees, 59 professional and 34 personal and junk e-mails, and… "Aries Girl, you're resisting letting go of something that no longer suits you. It is time to awaken to a new and higher way of thinking that will lead to success in a field that involves spreading higher truths to the world. Change, however, isn't always easy."

_Uh huh. _And spiritualwork didn't exactly pay the bills.

Carley groaned, "This place frickin' blows."

Katherine laughed. "What do you mean?"

"It's too bright upstairs to sleep, and the birds are a nightmare. I woke up dreaming they were mice with wings and I was trapped in a glass tank with only a water bottle and running wheel."

Katherine smiled. "No food?"

"That was the worst part! I was starving… as usual," she turned toward Katherine and twisted the throw to form a turban. "And I had to wait for my mother to come home to barf worms into my mouth."

Katherine heard the door that led to the upstairs loft open. Heavy footsteps drew closer. "Is that you, Honey?"

Quin appeared in the doorway yawning and rubbing an eye. "No, it's not me. I'm just a simple farm boy looking for a plate of grub." He rubbed his stomach.

"We were just talking about mother's feeding their young." Carley propped up on her elbows and addressed Quinn. "You'd better be very specific about what you want to eat, and that it's served on a plate, otherwise Mom might chew up some meat and spit it into your pie hole."

He raised an eyebrow and said, "I can't be baited until I've had caffeine," then turned toward the kitchen and scratched his behind as he walked away.

"It kind of freaks the crap out of me that he's drinking coffee," Katherine said.

"You said the same thing when I first came back from college and asked you for an espresso machine."

"I know, but that was because you don't have coffee drinking parents. With Quin, it's because he still looks like he's fifteen." Katherine remembered how guilty she felt leaving him at DePaul University in Chicago when he hadn't even turned eighteen.

"He's older than he looks, Mom… and I don't mean just in years. Besides, he's 5'8" now—a whole inch taller than you."

"And thirty-five pounds lighter." Katherine grabbed the rolls on her stomach. "God. When did I get this fat?"

"Right about the time you stop having 'marital relations'," Carley said.

Katherine looked at her. "I don't know that we're at the point in our mother/daughter relationship where we get to discuss my love life."

"That's true," she laid back and pulled the tail of her turban over her eyes. "Because there would be no content."

Katherine sat up against the headboard and crossed her legs beneath her. "My God, your dad and I broke up eleven years ago. How can that be possible?"

"You haven't had sex since you were thirty-seven?!" Carley propped up again. "You ain't gettin' any younger, lady."

Quin walked into the room and sat on the end of the bed. "Has the conversation shifted from Mom spitting meat into my pie hole?"

"Yup. Now we've moved to the last time Mom got laid," Carley said.

Quin took a sip of his coffee. "I think I was more comfortable with the first conversation."

The rest of the morning was a blur. All that Katherine could be sure of was… she'd made bacon and whole grain French toast for breakfast, washed and folded their last minute laundry, showered, dressed to impress and drew embarrassing pictures on the ridiculously full lunch bags she'd packed for their eight hour ride on the Megabus bound for Chicago.

The contents didn't matter to the kids; it was their Mom's artwork on the brown paper bags that got their attention.

Quin inspected the picture Katherine drew for him. "I don't know if I'm impressed or confused."

Carley came into the kitchen rubbing her hands together. "The almighty sack-art moment." She looked to Quin, "What did you get?"

He held the artistry against his chest for privacy. "If I'm interpreting this right, it's a rapper/nursery rhyme/festival combo. The scene is Soundset, rappers are performing, but for some reason Brother Ali is Humpty Dumpty, Slug's the Muffin Man and Toki Wright's the Itsy Bitsy Spider." He whipped the bag around for Carley to see.

She struck an art critique pose. "The shadowing of the bricks in the wall, the vibrancy of the blueberry's in the muffin and… the dreadlocks as spider legs? Absolutely inspired. " Carley pulled out her lunch bag. Following a stunned silence came the laughter Katherine always aimed for with Carley. The: can't catch her breath, tears rolling down her face, unable to stop, kind.

Quin grabbed her lunch bag and smiled. "Gossip Girl meets the Last Supper. Nice one." The phone rang and he answered it. "Yellow. Mr. Klein Jr., here."

Although Katherine opted to reclaim her maiden name, Flannery, it had a polarizing effect when her kids used their dad's surname, like somehow they were on a team that she would never belong to again.

She drifted to the last fight she had with Michael, the one that led to their divorce. He'd gone out to play golf that afternoon and didn't stumble in until 2:00 AM. The long absences began about six months after losing their oldest child, Ali. Sure, there were problems long before that. Maybe it was because Ali was the reason they got married in the first place, or because he rearranged the dishwasher, or she always wore her hair in a bun, or maybe… they never really loved each other in the first place.

But something shifted with them the night the police arrived at their door with the news: Ali and three of her friends were killed in a head on collision. The driver fell asleep on the way back from a midnight joy ride to Duluth. The car careened across a grass median and ran directly into the path of a semi. The girl responsible for the accident… Ali. Fifteen at the time, she was the only one with a learners permit.

Their deaths rocked the community of Minnetonka. To honor their lives, the high school of 2,872 students, held a memorial service in their football stadium after the "remains" of each girl was settled.

Katherine still shuddered at the question, "Would you prefer to bury or cremate your child?" No one should be subject to a question like that.

The families of the deceased were ushered to seats on a stage at the fifty-yard line. Katherine remembered little more of that evening than holding Carley and Quin's hands— who were then ten and seven years old, respectively— seeing the stadium filled to capacity, looking into the eyes of the other parents who'd lost their children and knowing that the mother of the one who killed them would never be allowed the same latitude of grief and anger as they were.

Katherine slipped into a kind of numbness, unsure of what to feel. It was as if guilt robbed her of the normal stages of grief: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance… none of that ever happened. Her emotions became sealed off, wrapped up in an airtight box and locked away in deep freeze.

People that Katherine thought were friends disappeared, others she barely knew came forward, but she and Michael were damaged beyond repair. The occasional and lack luster love life they once shared disappeared completely.

It wasn't until the morning after Michael's last bender that Katherine knew something had to change— if not for herself, then for her living children. She didn't want them to grow up thinking that the kind of relationship she had with Michael was how love should look. Life, as they'd all learned, could be too short. Why spend it in the company of a person who looked at you with the same contempt as something stuck to the bottom of their shoe?

The smell of his breath that morning — something akin to pickled eggs— coupled with the expectant way he turned into her left her feeling… nothing.

It started out as usual, with Michael grabbing her left breast from behind and trying to push himself into her. But she couldn't take "it," anymore. Katherine shot out of bed and into the bathroom with enough velocity to generate a tailwind. Normally Michael respected her privacy, but he followed her that morning, as if he knew their marriage was a house made of cards and she was knocking it down with every step.

Katherine put her hands on the counter to steady herself, looked into the mirror and watched as Michael wrapped his arms around her waist then said, "Do you ever think we should spend more time together?"

To which she replied, "Actually, no… I want a divorce." In the sliver of time before Michael reacted, Katherine worried about her sanity. How could she feel so flat? Surely she could scrape up a modicum of guilt, or sadness, or fear about the future, but nothing stirred in her. It was as if all the pain and loss she'd experienced resulted in a sort of emotional lobotomy.

But then, in slow motion, she watched Michael's expression shift in a way her mind couldn't absorb. It was as if his face was made of candle wax and pain was a flame, melting his features, morphing their shape and original position. Along with the unfathomable expression, came a sound that she'd never heard before— like an animal was being tortured inside his body and howling from his entrails. Soon, he was on his knees, his forehead kissing the the floor, moaning with the dying beast inside him.

Then, she felt something for Michael for the first time in nearly two years.

Compassion.

But, she noted, that was different than love. She touched his back. "I'm so sorry."

Quin hung up the phone. "That was Dad. He'll be here in about an hour."

Katherine glanced at the clock- 11:28. "We'd better let Lou know. I'm sure she'll want to see you off."

Lou (short for Louise) was Katherine's closet friend in a slightly older group of women known as "The MEN"— five ballsy women in various stages of MENopause. She'd met them eleven years prior at a Grief Support meeting she attended while trying to come to terms with Ali's death. Each had their own bereavements. None wanted to accept them. Of course, none of them wanted to belong to a "death club," but it bonded them in a way that was usually reserved for war survivors.

The old name of her group of friends was "Aunties," but that was dumped as soon as they started hot-flashing en masse. Five to fourteen years their junior, Katherine could do little more than provide them with copious amounts of sympathy, white wine and batteries for their handheld water fans.

Carley wiped tears of laughter with the back of her hand and sent a text Lou: _Get your sassy ass over here. You're favorite non-birthed children are leaving in an hour. Oh… and bring lipstick. Quin loves it when you when you guys stain his cheeks. Says it makes him look like a player. _

Katherine watched Carley's expression change to one of mischief. "You're up to something."

Carley made her best Joker face and said, "Who me?"

10


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Pinball_

Katherine heard Lou's arrival, the familiar sound of metal hitting her concrete driveway. The only way to find a parking spot in Uptown— especially when winter restrictions eliminated half the streets— was to dig one out.

Lou became adept with a snowplow soon after October 31st 1991. The date was etched in her mind, not only because it was Halloween, but also, it snowed thirty-six inches, her husband's return flight was cancelled, power lines were severed and her water broke three weeks early. After giving birth to their fifth child, on the kitchen floor with no heat or electricity, something had to change.

When her husband, Dave landed back in Minnesota he stopped medical consulting and settled in as a family practitioner. Lou, on the other hand, decided to buy a truck that some referred to as "the Monster." It could plow, tow or traverse anything, in any condition. When someone needed rescuing, Lou was first on the scene. Soon she gained the respect of the local fire station, earning an honoree spot on their summer float in the Delano Parade.

The first thing Dave saw in Lou— when he fell in love with her in the sixth grade— was that she was tough as nails. Once she'd set her mind to something, she was going to do it, have it or achieve it. No obstacle was too large, no threat too intimidating and certainly no sweet-talk contained enough sugar to dissuade her.

Exhibit A): No Obstacle too big.

When Chucky— better known as Chunky— Buck said, "I'm gonna whoop your ass, and ain't no one can stop me," at recess that fateful day, Lou quietly moved to a swing, dumped out her Archie and Friends lunch box, refilled it's contents and waded through the circle of twelve-year-olds gathered around them.

Twirling an auburn tendril around her fingers, she said, "I bet I can stop you, Chunky."

He turned to her and laughed. "What the hell are _you_ gonna do about it?"

Walking to him— lunchbox in hand— she said, "This."

One word, that's all Chucky heard, before she clocked him on the side of the head, knocking him out cold. She poured the contents of her lunch box— three pounds of playground rocks— on his head and said, "If you're going to threaten someone at least speak English when you do it… you stupid piece of crap."

Dave scrambled to his feet, grabbed Lou's wrist and pulled her back to the swings. "Being the new kid is bad enough, now I have to live with the stigma of having a girl fight my battles."

Lou cocked her head. "Stigma?"

"Let me dummy it down for you. Shame, disLou, humiliate. Do any of _those_ words register?"

"Actually, all of them… including stigma." She'd never heard the word before. "I'm just surprised that a boy wearing a flannel shirt, cowboy boots and a belt buckle †he size of my face knows such a fancy word."

"So you think cowboy's are stupid? Wouldn't that make you _ignorant_?"

She looked him up and down. _Scrawny. Wicked smart. Not afraid of a girl like me. _"I'm going to say something now that you can't repeat."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "This ought to be good."

"I like you." She picked up her ham and cheese sandwich, bag of Nacho Doritos, a Dole fruit cup and a can of Tab and placed them back into her lunchbox systematically. "That might not mean much to you now, but in time you'll find out how rare that is."

He looked at her freckles, clear blue eyes, cherry lips, and knew he'd marry her someday. "So… how'd you know how to do that?"

"I'm an O'Grady." She started walking back to the school.

Dave caught up. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Our family's known for two things: breeding and fighting."

_Tough, genuine, sharp as a skinning knife._ "What are they better at?"

"I've got nine older brothers… and they've got all their teeth."

"Dual competencies. Impressive." He kicked at the grass. "I don't have much experience in..." _But I'd sure like to try kissin'._

"Either? No surprise there." She stopped him by the upper arm. "I've only been in a few fights, myself_." _Eighteen, to be exact, but in her defense, most of them were with looked at his mouth. _But I'd sure like to try kissing._ "How do you know all those fancy words anyway?"

"Texas All State Jr. Spelling Bee Champion three years running. But I'm better at math and science. I wanna be a doctor someday."

She put her arm over his shoulder. "Promise me you'll never say that out loud again. There's only so many people I can fight before they ship me off to boarding school."

"Lou is here!" Carley tugged on winter boots and headed for the back stairs.

"You'd better not go empty handed." Quin opened the treat cabinet.

"How many's she bringing?" Carley asked.

Quin shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

She grabbed a bag of Tootsie Pops and thudded down the stairs.

Moments later, a team of feet drummed up the stairs: Carley, Lou and six little ducklings— varying in age from eighteen months to seven years old— appeared in various stages of sucker consumption, from struggling with the wrapper to chewed down to the Tootsie Roll center.

The eldest was piggyback on Carley, baby Lucy rode Lou's hip and the rest were wrangling out of coats, hats, gloves and boots.

Lou moved her sucker to a cheek and said, "Ready?" to Katherine.

"I'm always ready for her. You, my dear, have the tougher job."

"No kidding." Lou turned the baby toward Katherine.

Lucy dropped her sucker, squealed and executed her classic kicking, back dive with extra zeal. Even when a solid, albeit accidental, kick doubled her over, Lou managed to catch the baby, before cranium slammed into shin.

"Nice one," Quin said.

Lou put her hands on her knees, then rolled up to a stand. "I've been taking self-defense classes."

With the skill of a fawn in moonboots, Lucy ran with outstretched arms, toward her "Auntie Kat."

Katherine scooped her up and blew zerberts on her tummy. Squeals evolved into a fit of laughter that seemed to ripple from Lucy's sunlit ringlets to her dimpled toes…until she realized her Tootsie Pop was gone.

A familiar pre-wail quiver of her chin sent Quin sliding across the floor on his knees, Matrix style, and a delivery of her prize as if it were a bouquet for a princess.

He'd always been good with kids, but even Quin didn't escape Katherine's suspicion of anyone with a Y chromosome in the presence of children. As carefully as she watched him for signs of "grooming" children— lingering looks, increased touching, secret gifts, private time— none of them emerged.

He was a good kid, who had it all: Good looks, grade-advancing intelligence, wit, people skills and initiative. While most parents would be grateful for a child with so many gifts, she'd been warned about the drawback of "being in a league of his own," it's lonely.

There aren't many people in the 99th percentile …of everything. Friends may be fleeting— the counselor warned— and lovers scarce, not to mention the divide that can happen in families.

She was familiar with the divide in families. Her father gauged intelligence in grades. Education could be tested, instincts could not. His "smart" children received A's, took advanced classes, attended Universities, and held degrees in business, or law. The stupid one's –including Katherine— took after their mother.

Katherine's cell phone rang. Quin looked at it. "It's your sister, Denise."

_One of the smart one's_. Denise was also known as the grim reaper; she only called with bad news.

Katherine looked to Lou.

"You want me to answer it?" She asked.

Katherine nodded, "In the other room." She turned her attention the little ones. "How about cookies and hot chocolate?"

The question, of course, was met with shrieks of enthusiasm.

Lou grabbed the phone. "You know their sugar will spike right after we leave here."

"Then take them directly to their mothers'."

"You want to torture my daughters-in-law?"

"Absolutely. And I'd like pictures of the fallout."

"Don't be ridiculous." She pressed answer, "I'll take video's." Lou walked through the dining and living room, toward the four-season porch. The last thing Katherine heard her say was, "Hello."

"Dad's here." Quin said as he helped the kids bring their cups to the sink.

"I'll help them wash up. You guys go grab your stuff."

Just as Carley and Quin left the room Lou reentered; her face unreadable. That was nothing new, being sarcastic meant her expression remained neutral whether she told you she had a brain tumor, or wanted to adopt a middle-aged racist with a serious case of Tourette's. The only shift… lack of eye contact.

Lou walked into the kitchen and straight to a footstool. "Come on kids, let's get you washed up."

_Shit. _

She focused solely on the sink and washing dimpled hands. "After Michael picks up the kids." She cleared her throat. "I'll put on cartoons for these guys and…" She didn't bother finishing the sentence.

A tumbling sound boomed down the stairs. Normally it would be cause for alarm, but Katherine's head was swimming.

"Don't worry!" Carley called, "That was just my suitcase."

Katherine took a deep breath and smiled as they came into the room loaded down with suitcases, backpacks and duffle bags filled with the spoils of Christmas.

"What's wrong?" Carley asked. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Katherine said faintly. "Nothing at all."

"Then why are you doing that weird closed lipped smile?" She looked to Lou. "And why are you washing their hands like you give a damn about sticky fingers?"

Lou didn't look up. "They can be sticky in my house, but you know what a control freak your mother is."

Quin nudged Carley. "Drop it."

Lou finished up with the kids. "Now… for those kisses you wanted."

Quin's eyebrows knitted. Carley hid a smile.

At Lou's instruction, the girls lined up. She handed Carley "Persimmon Pink," for the younger one's while she applied "Raspberry Rose" to the older girls.

"Sit here." Lou pointed to the stepstool.

"Me?" Quin said, "I'm not putting on lipstick!"

"Of course not," Lou said. "The girls just want to kiss you good bye."

Quin shot a glance to Carley. "You set this up didn't you?"

Katherine couldn't help but smile.

"You don't want to disappoint them, now do you?" Carley said with a twinkle in her eye. "They've been waiting for this all morning."

He dropped his bags, shot a look to Carley and sat on the stool. "You'd better not close your eyes on the bus, or you wake up with a Sharpie beard."

After the girls covered his cheeks in kisses, Lou hugged them both goodbye. "I'll miss you guys more than I ever missed my own kids."

"That's only because they never left you," Carley said.

"And I sooooo wished they had." Lou kissed Carley's cheek and whispered, "Call me when you get back."

Carley held her close. "How bad is it?"

"She's been through worse." Lou released her and said aloud. "Let us know when you guys get in, okay?"

Quin nodded and started to rub his cheek.

"Don't you dare." Carley warned, "Erased kisses could mean years of therapy." She smiled that wicked smile.

Quin looked at Katherine. "Are you going to walk us out?"

"Are you kidding?" She put on a dash of Raspberry Rose. "What kind of mother would I be if I didn't take this opportunity to aggravate your father?"

"Excellent ex-tude."

Katherine put on knee high boots, the riding jacket that complimented her frame, magenta gloves and a scarf to compliment her lipstick. After putting her phone in her pocket she said, "I'll get the duffels, if you guys will take your suitcases and backpacks."

After about million goodbyes, the three of them headed to the front door as little feet thundered to the four-season porch, followed by Lou and Mavis.

From the road, the kids put their luggage in the trunk and looked up at their captive audience. Mavis propped front paws on the ledge, Lou cleared circles on frosty windows and a blur of hand waves wished them farewell.

They waved final goodbyes and got in the back seat, just as Michael stepped out. "I'll text you when the bus pulls out. They should get in just before 9:00." He looked up at the windows. "Does she still hate me?"

"Until the end of time." Katherine lied. Telling him the truth, _she pities you, _felt unnecessarily cruel.

"Seems like she should have met me before she came to that conclusion."

"I'm afraid that would only give her more cause."

Michael sneered. "I see you sharpened your tongue after brushing your teeth."

Katherine tipped her head. "Dating a college student?"

Michael looked sucker punched. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's highly unlikely for you to quote Dorothy Parker and it's even more doubtful for you to date someone old enough to know who she is. So I'm guessing… Freshman English student?"

"You've got it wrong." He smiled like Carley. "She's a sophomore," he said before getting back in the car.

Quin lowered the window and Katherine leaned down. "I'll miss you guys more than you could ever possibly know."

"Ditto, Mums." He fist-bumped her.

Carley looked at her with rare gravity. "You gonna be okay, Mom?"

Katherine smiled. "I've spent a whole semester as an empty-nester. Gives me time to figure out the next phase of my life."

"What ever it is, I'm sure it'll be phenomenal cause you're a frickin' rock star." She made the rock star hand gestures and attempted the KISS tongue.

Katherine smiled, "Go on, now. I've gotta get to work, then tend to the mass of people who want to fill my evenings."

Carley smiled back, "I'm not sure what that means exactly, but you should add mace, lipstick and condoms to your Louis Vuitton."

"What kind of talk is that?!" Michael snapped.

"Grown women with needs, talk, Father." Carley winked at her mom.

As Michael pulled away, Katherine blew the kids a kiss then reached for her phone. Business e-mails were up to eighty-seven. _Damn. _She waved a final goodbye before Michael's Audi turned right off Emerson.

She glanced up at Lou and made a decision; unless _the_ news required immediate attention, it would have to wait… until after work, with no kids around.

With a shudder, she headed back in.

Jason, the down stairs neighbor, was locking up. "How's it going?"

"Good, good." Katherine lied. "Happy as hell that it's Friday."

He inspected her clothes. "You have an appointment today? That's going to give the rest of us a bad name."

By "us," he meant manufacturers reps. Men and women selling commercial finishes to architects, designers and Fortune 500 companies. He sold granite, marble and ceramic tile. Katherine was a sales rep. for a major commercial flooring manufacturer. Her largest clients included: Target Stores, Best Buy, 3M and United Health Group (UHG). The later accounted for nearly half of her $12 million dollar annual modular carpet sales.

"It's with UHG. I'd go in on a Sunday if they asked me to."

He swung his keys around an index finger. "I'd give my left nut for that account."

"Did you hear that?" Katherine cupped her ear with her hand. "I think your right testicle just breathed a sigh of relief."

Jason smiled. "Just need one to spawn a new generation of Mozinski's."

There are some people you don't want to picture spawning. Jason, with his slicked back hair, beer belly, fleshy hands and bitten nails, was one of them. Nice guy, but not exactly the ideal sperm donor.

"Whelp," Katherine said as she reached for the door, "I've already raised my new generation… now it's their tuition that keeps me working Fridays."

"Shouldn't be a problem since you snagged UHG," He said and headed for the porch steps. "What's your commission on them anyway?"

"Not much," She lied. "With big accounts like that, it's pittance." The truth, 2% of 6 million dollars equaled $120,000, she averaged 4% on the rest of her sales, which came to $240,000, plus, there were five figure bonuses for exceeding sales goals. After the money she paid to a junior partner, an assistant and the (forty percent) taxman, she netted $175,00… and spent every penny.

Sure, she and the kids had nice clothes and ate well, but without any support from Michael, most of the money was used for housing, education and supplementing her widowed sisters income. That meant four rent payments, two tuitions, several grocery bills, plus cars and insurance. Her major indulgence was travel. She wasn't fond of jewelry, expensive shoes or designer bags (her purse was actually a Louise Vuitton, purchased from a man on the sidewalk who wore a patchwork hat and pantaloons) she just thought of money as something easily obtained, but not hers to keep.

Besides, she prophesized an early death, why save for retirement?

Katherine opened the door and was met by the Looney Tunes theme song. The girls were choosing their spots: three headed to the turquoise couch, one for the yellow, wingback chair, one laid on her tummy on the "Twister" area rug and baby Lucy was holding out "up" arms.

Lou lifted her to a hip and said, "Let's go to the kitchen."

Once there, Katherine removed her gloves and scarf. "Can this wait?"

Lou turned and searched Katherine's eyes.

"That's the first time you've actually looked at me since the call, so I know it's bad. But I don't want to have to hold it together in front of the little ones, or during my appointment. Plus, I've got about a hundred e-mails screaming for attention."

There was a pause, the kind that's pregnant with internal combat. "Yes. You're right. It can wait." She reached for Lucy's coat. "I'll come back tonight. 6:00?"

Katherine nodded. "I'm sorry. I just…"

"I understand."

After everyone left, Katherine sat for a moment at the head of the dining room table listening to the silence. It was deafening without her children at home. Deafening to be so alone. Five empty leather chairs and a table long enough to host the last supper. _For who? _And why, she wondered, did she buy this set in a brown so dark it could be mistaken for black. Black, the color of death. The rest of her apartment was so much brighter. Colors you'd find at the beach or in citrus groves.

She remembered the call and thought about her siblings. _Who died? _Not Denise_. Brilliant deduction_. Maxine, Steve, Brian, Gloria, Faith? No. _Maybe someone's sick, or broke, or…_ Stop it. Get to work.

Katherine picked up her phone and sent a text to her kids: Miss you already. Let me know when you're safe at home? Love you more than lobster, pot stickers and coconut cake combined. – Mumsy

After pressing send, she dedicated the rest of the day to work. Work, the most effective way to deny feeling like the ball in a pinball machine; bounced around, no control, hitting walls at every turn. Work, followed by a bottle of Chardonnay.

12


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_ Dust_

Lou knocked on the back door. A formality she adopted after catching one of the Ya-Ya's "in flagrante delicto" on the kitchen counter with a man she'd aptly named the Hammer; first name Jack.

"Come in." Katherine called and closed her laptop. She took a breath before retrieving wine glasses from the buffet in the dining room. _Here we go. _

"Red, white or Grand Marnier?" Lou called from the kitchen while removing winter gear.

_Grand Marnier_? Although it was a favorite, Katherine only drank it on special occasions… and when she couldn't sleep. Besides Lou was a world-class penny-pincher. If something wasn't on sale, didn't have a discount coupon or couldn't be bartered she didn't consider it.

"Let's start with the white… unless it's in a box."

"There's nothing wrong with boxed wine," Lou said from the kitchen.

_Uh huh. _Katherine walked around the buffet. "We'll drink mine." She pulled a chilled bottle of Toasted Head from the fridge. "Look at this label. It's a Chardonnay from the North Coast of California, not White Wine 'packaged in Michigan.' And this," she took a bottle of Rodney Strong from the small rack on top of the microwave. "Is a Sonoma County Cabernet, not Red Table Wine 'made from a variety of grapes.' Also, the shape of the bottle affects the pour. A cardboard box with a spigot and bladder says, 'Drink me in a parking lot with friends who have no teeth."

Lou opened the refrigerator. "It's good enough for the in-laws."

"Dave's parents still get their water from a well and use an outhouse as their primary bathroom. You could probably pee in a cup, serve it up as champagne and they'd be none-the-wiser."

Sarcasm was Katherine's mask for pain. Luckily Lou knew it.

"I'll help you through this you know?" She said, as she placed appetizers on a cutting board.

Katherine filled wine glasses to ¾ full. "Let's go to the living room." She tucked the bottle under her arm and grabbed the glasses.

Lou followed and placed the food on the coffee table. She waited for Katherine to take a seat on the couch then chose the yellow chair next to it.

They clinked glasses before sampling.

Katherine tucked a foot under herself, "Okay, I'm ready."

Lou took another sip of wine. "It's bad news… about Maxine."

_The oldest. _"Is she…?"

"Unfortunately… yes."

She forced herself to swallow the wine hitched in her throat. "When? How?"

"They think she died about three days ago."

_Think? _"What do you mean they 'think,'?"

"After she missed a couple days of work and didn't answer her phone her boss grew more concerned than usual. He went to her apartment, but there was no response from her or the landlord, so he climbed the fire escape, looked in the window and saw her lying on the floor. He broke a window. When he forced his way in he found her…unresponsive. It appeared that she'd been gone for some time."

The blood drained from her face. "How did she…?"

"They're not sure, but believe its alcohol related."

"I know she had a problem, but..."

"She was being treated for ulcers in her stomach and esophagus. She'd been in a lot of pain for quite some time and wasn't getting any better. They thought she'd stopped drinking, but…" Lou's voice trailed off.

"But what?"

"Her boss, Jeff, I think his name was, said her apartment was littered with vodka and whiskey bottles. Too many to count." Lou put her hand on Katherine's arm. "I'm so sorry."

Katherine looked around for some as semblance of normal, but everything warped as if she were looking through the fumes of gas. "I can't believe it. I mean, I know what you're saying is true but…"

"I can stay all night. Dave's fine with…"

"No, I, I think I need to be alone." She looked up from the floor. "I don't mean to be rude. I just…"

"You're allowed to react anyway you want. I just want to be here for you. I mean, your kids just left. That's overwhelming enough. And now…"

Something went flat in Katherine. "Just go." Her own voice surprised her; devoid of inflection. "And leave the Grand Marnier."

Lou stood. "I'll call you in the morning."

Katherine didn't remember her leaving, or finishing the bottle of wine, or drinking ½ of the Grand Marnier, but she remembered feeling guilty for not seeing Maxine the last time she was in New York.

It was all planned: the train to Jersey City, they'd spend the evening reminiscing… and drinking. But somehow Katherine knew she didn't want to see where Maxine lived, how she'd aged over the years, or pretend to be interested in who she was in her heyday twenty years ago.

Besides, seeing Maxine was like looking into the eyes of her mother—both of whom were among the walking dead for the last twenty years of their lives.

"Another black box," Katherine slurred before picking up the phone. _I'll have make room on the shelf._

4


End file.
